Thanatopsis
by River of Oblivion
Summary: Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, scourged by his dungeon; but, sustain'd and soothed by an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave like one who wraps the drapery of his couch about him, and lies down to pleasant dreams." "Lamentations" series.


**A/N: Well, it's kinda sad, but also a bit of a relief that I've finally finished up this little series. I just needed a little bit of closure regarding the events of season four, so I wrote these "Lamentations" as a way of finding that. This piece is probably my favorite, so that's why I saved it for last. Again, spoilers for "Adrift" and "Lifeline."**

* * *

_"We dream of hope. We dream of change. Of fire, of love, of death. And then it happens. The dream becomes real. And the answer to this quest, this need to solve life's mysteries finally shows itself. Like the glowing light of a new dawn. So much struggle for meaning, for purpose. And in the end, we find it only in each other. Our shared experience of the fantastic. And the mundane. The simple human need to find a kindred, to connect. And to know in our hearts… that we are not alone." - Dr. Mohinder Suresh_

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It hadn't been much more than a month and already she was forgetting. It wasn't names and faces, or even schematics that were silently escaping the confines of her memory, however; what she was losing was far less obvious but an even more integral part of her than mere facts.

She was forgetting sensations.

Gone was the memory of how it felt to wander the Ancient city late at night with only the light of a foreign moon to guide her, lost was the recollection of the emotions stirred within her as she watched the early morning sun bathe the towers in a soft gold. She couldn't remember the taste of Athosian tea, the smell of falling rain, or the sound of waves as they reached the city's parapets only to be driven back to the ocean.

If she concentrated she could almost remember the feel of companionable silence and starlight, another hand accidentally brushing hers, warm smiles and laughter and tears. She hadn't yet forgotten the distinctive mixture of aftershave, laundry detergent and something indefinable that had her looking over her shoulder for the source.

She wondered how long it would be before those memories too faded completely away.

The twilight hours would find her in a small cell, clutching the jacket that still smelled like sunshine and sea spray, and fingering the patch that bore the symbol of home. In this bitter place that was a counterfeit version of her beloved city, it was her one comfort.

She had never been much of a philosopher, thinking that the whole idea of sitting around thinking of the answers to queries that didn't matter was a waste of time; but lately, she'd been giving those seemingly meaningless queries a lot of thought. Ideas and suppositions that had once seemed so trivial had suddenly been thrown into sharp relief. Sometimes, when she would lie awake at night, she'd seek the answers to questions that men had wondered about for countless centuries; Aristotle would have been proud.

Mostly, she wondered what it meant to be human, if it was merely having a soul that gave one the privilege of bearing such a title, or if there was another aspect involved. She remembered reading a novel by Asimov once, about a robot (bile rose in the back of her throat at the word) who wanted to be human. In the end it wasn't the ability to think or create or imagine that proved to be the dividing line between humanity and their artificial counterparts, but mortality. That thought scared her, because she feared without outside intervention she might live forever; as if immortality wasn't frightening enough, the fact that the very essence of her nature might hinge on it was terrifying.

She still had to rest to rejuvenate energy; the Asurans hadn't been able to iron out that particular "kink" in her composition. She never thought she'd see the day when she'd be happy to need sleep; but now it was the only way to escape reality, to remember who she was. Dreams were one of the few things that separated her from them, and her nighttime phantasms sent her back to a beautiful city of lights and wonders, back among her people where she belonged; it gave her the chance to see her family, to see **him**. And if the Collective tried to take that away from her they were going to have a fight on their hands.

She had tried to escape a grand total of three times, and though she'd been let off the first two times with a warning and a mind probe, the third time she'd been punished. Apparently the Asurans had the ability to shut off specific nanites in her body; the result had left her brain fully active, but the rest of her body broken. The pain had been unbearable, and every time she fell into blessed unconsciousness they jolted her back into a world of anguish and suffering. In those eternal, agonizing moments, she'd wished that Rodney had just let her die. Afterward, when she was thrown back into her cell, she'd berated herself for being so selfish; if she had died, she wouldn't have been able to help her team retrieve a ZPM and rewrite the Asurans base code…and she wouldn't have been there to save them.

Resigned as she was to her fate, she couldn't help but feel slightly betrayed by those she'd sacrificed herself for. She knew John Sheppard's stand on leaving people behind; and yet here she was, "left behind." He hadn't come back for her, and her mechanical sixth sense told her hadn't even come within a hundred yards of the city; and as much as she wanted to deny it, she was hurt. It didn't really make sense; after all, the very meaning of the word sacrifice dictated that she had permanently exchanged her life for theirs. She had fully understood the gravity of her actions when she'd run from the relative safety of the Jumper into the bowels of the Asuran city. There hadn't been a shred of doubt in her being when she'd commanded her team to leave her behind. Still, she had seen enough risky rescue missions attempted to know that her military commander gave everything he had to bring lost expedition members back; most of those attempts he'd somehow convinced her into authorizing against her better judgment, and almost all of them had succeeded. That was why a part of her, miniscule though it might be, felt as though she'd been abandoned.

Still, in her most secret heart, she held out hope that maybe someday she'd make it back. It was only natural for humans to retain faith in the worst of circumstances; without it, there was nothing worth fighting for. _Humans,_ a bitter smile never failed to grace her lips at the term.

She wondered if anyone had told her mother that her daughter was half machine.

Probably not, at best they would have told her that her only daughter was missing and presumed dead.

Then she wondered if the Asurans would eventually destroy her when they grew tired of her. In all likelihood they would; it wasn't like they'd send her back to Atlantis, and Oberoth wasn't a big fan of hers. Maybe, just maybe if she behaved they would send her body back to her city. She'd like that, to be able to travel through the stargate one last time; and it would provide her people with a sense of closure.

Her family would be told that she had died in the service of her country. That was true, to a limited extent; and she was curious as to whether or not she'd be given a military funeral. It would certainly be ironic for someone who had so opposed the use of the armed forces early in her career; but the truth was that she had quickly learned that the use of force, even the deadly kind, was unfortunately needed on a regular basis. As much as she'd tried to fight it, she had come to genuinely respect and deeply admire those who risked so much for the safety of others. And now? Now she would be honored to keep company with their dead. Her mom would be presented with a flag, folded perfectly thirteen times; and she could picture her giving it to John, who would accept it solemnly and with a little confusion. He had never known how much he meant to her, but her mother certainly did; she would have been able to decipher the code of emotions in her daughter's letters.

She should have found it disconcerting that she was analyzing her own death, but in a way, it was reassuring. Perhaps thinking about mortality was proof of her humanity; maybe just calling the process of ceasing to function 'dying' was enough to make her human.

Maybe labeling her existence as 'life' was enough to make her a real person.

She could always hope it was that simple.

Of course, on top of all the other things she was hoping for, maybe this one favor was too much to ask. Perhaps she was already longing for too much; maybe each person was only allotted a certain amount of wishes that could come true and here she was wasting them on herself. She was still being selfish, still putting her needs above the needs of others.

If it was her sacrifice that was needed to save Atlantis, she would willingly give up all her other hopes and dreams for just one: that her friends…her family would be safe and well.

If she could only be assured of that, it wouldn't matter what happened to her.

Yeah, she could live--or exist with that knowledge.

And she would gladly die for the slightest hope, the softest whisper that her dream could come true.


End file.
